


Shine

by unkissed



Series: Trading Places [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Homophobic Language, Light Angst, M/M, Muggle London, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius has dropped out of Hogwarts to become a pop star.  Albus is just a wee bit daft, but chalk it up to his deeply rooted denial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Gratitude and love go out to my partner in literary crime, ColorfulStabwound. The characters Duston and Alexa Montague belong to them. Bryce Zabini belongs to Shannon.
> 
> For Scorpius, who is the spark that makes Albus shine.

A large padded envelope drops in front of Albus upon the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, barely startling him out of the gloom he’d been in lately.  He looks at the mysterious package with confusion, having not had any sort of post for nearly two weeks. It had been exactly ten days, five hours, and three minutes since the last postcard Scorpius had sent from the road, not that Albus would ever admit he’d been counting. Albus was beginning to think he’d been forgotten.  Not that he could blame Scorpius.  His best mate had more important things to think about than keeping in touch with Albus while touring the muggle world as a teenage pop star.

 

Albus hadn’t been expecting anything from anyone, much less from Scorpius. But when he turns over the puffy envelope to find Scorpius’ neat handwriting, his heart skips a beat. His own name is carefully written in thick, black permanent marker, accented with glittery star stickers, just like the envelopes in which Scorpius used to send letters over the summer holidays when they were younger. 

 

It’s startling and exciting enough to make Albus dribble pumpkin juice from the corner of his stupidly grinning mouth. He blushes, wipes his mouth, glances around for witnesses, and finds Lysander at the Ravenclaw table, grinning just as stupidly with stars in his eyes, as if Albus were the coolest bloke that ever spit up on himself.  Albus gives him a little awkward wave before returning his attention to the envelope.

 

He’s not sure he wants to open it in front of his nosy friends, who are already eying the package with curiosity.

 

Lloyd elbows him gently and asks, wagging his eyebrows, “From your secret admirer?”

 

Albus is too quick to respond, “Who do you mean? Scorpius?”

 

Lloyd snorts and rolls his eyes. “No, dumb-arse. I’m talking about Scamander. Malfoy’s got loads of his own admirers and zero fucks to give about any of us now that he’s a super star.”

 

Albus tucks the package away in his rucksack as he mutters, “Scor hasn’t forgotten about us.”  If it had been yesterday, or even a few minutes ago, Albus would not have had faith in his own words.  But the envelope hidden in his bag gives him hope.

 

He scampers off to the boys’ bathroom to open the package in private, without his friends bothering him.  But as soon as he tears it open with a carefully applied spell, the door creaks open, and Albus swears under his breath for more than one reason.

 

“I thought I’d find you here,” says Lysander with a crooked little grin that Albus knows is not as coy as it looks. He gently pulls Albus by the end of his necktie and presses a firm kiss to his lips.

 

Albus opens his mouth to protest, but inadvertently invites Lysander to deepen the kiss, and he can’t help but let the other boy have his way when he’s so starved for affection.  He has enough sense to stop Lysander before things get out of hand again.

 

“We shouldn’t,” Albus mumbles against Lysander’s lips.

 

Lysander curls his fingers around the front of Albus’ shirt and replies breathlessly, “You’re right.  Somebody might see.  After the last time we got caught snogging, it was hard enough convincing Lor that I wasn’t dating you.”

 

There are several things that Albus wants to tell Lysander, but he finds it difficult to do so when the other boy’s hand is reaching into his trousers and easing him back into a stall.  Albus wants to tell Lysander that it shouldn’t be difficult to convince _anyone_ that they’re not dating, because they are resolutely not dating.  He wants to tell Lysander that he doesn’t want to hurt him, despite what Lorcan wants Lysander to believe.  Albus can’t help that he’s a desperately horny teenage boy who’s nursing some serious heartache after his best mate has left him behind.  He doesn’t want to use Lysander, but the damn kid makes it too fucking easy.

 

Before Albus can reason with the other boy, he’s behind the locked door of the bathroom stall with his pants down and his cock nestled inside Lysander’s eager mouth for the second time this week. He doesn’t regain his sense of decency or his capacity to think rationally until after he’s spilled down Lysander’s throat.  And when he does regain the use of his brain, he gently tells Lysander what he’d been hinting at since this whole tryst began in September.

 

“This has to stop.  It isn’t right.  It isn’t fair to you,” says Albus, holding Lysander’s hand to soften the blow.

 

“Fair?  Since when was life fair?”  Lysander’s soft smile falters almost imperceptibly as he brings Albus’ hand up to his lips.

 

Albus has no idea how to say what he needs to say without sounding like a jerk.  That’s probably because he _is_ a jerk. So he just blurts it out after several stalled beginnings.  “We’re not… This isn’t… I’m not… I’m not in love with you, Ly.  I never meant to lead you on.”

 

Lysander kisses the back of Albus’ hand and giggles quietly.  “You think I don’t know that?  Silly Al. I’m quite aware that you don’t love me.” Astonishingly, Lysander isn’t bitter. But despite Lysander’s smile, Albus knows him well enough to recognize the sadness hidden behind that perpetual optimism.

 

“So, you understand that this has to stop?” He meekly regards Lysander from behind dark lashes.

 

“Does it really?” Lysander asks, his smile turning slightly shrewd in a way that’s eerily similar to his twin’s dark smirk. Albus tilts his head with confusion, and Lysander goes on to say, without any hint of spitefulness, “I know you’re in love with Scorpius.”

 

Albus opens his mouth to deny it, but Lysander puts a finger on his lips to silence him.  “I’ve known you my whole life, Albus Potter.  And I know you’ve always been in love with Scor.  I barely had a chance with you while he was around. Then he drops out of Hogwarts, and suddenly you’re letting me suck you off?  Not a coincidence.”

 

Albus’ brows knit together as he heaves a resigned sigh and glances down in shame.  “I’m so stupid.  He’s my best mate. And I shouldn’t have these feelings for him, but…”

 

“But you can’t help it,” Lysander finishes his sentence.  “Mum always says that hearts are unreasonable, and there’s no use in trying to make sense of what they want.”

 

There’s a tightness in Albus’ chest when he answers with a sad whisper, “Yeah.”

 

Lysander hooks a finger under Albus’ chin to lift his gaze.  “It’s okay,” he says softly, “I know all about unreasonable hearts because I’ve got one too. You can break my heart six different ways, and I will never learn.  So do with me what you will.  I know what I’m in for.”

 

Lysander kisses him so gently and so sweetly that Albus could close his eyes and get lost in the warmth of the other boy’s mouth while dreaming of another blond.  But Albus pulls away and says, “I can’t.  I just can’t.  I don’t love you. I’m sorry.”

 

“Give me a chance,” Lysander practically begs with his lips ghosting against Albus’.  “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

 

“But it does, Ly.  It hurts both of us,” Albus insists, taking a step back.

 

Lysander’s face falls for a moment, and Albus expects him to cry.  When the other boy looks up, his cheeks are indeed wet and he looks completely crushed. And when he speaks, this time his voice is cracked with spiteful anguish.  “Why can’t you just move on?  He’s gone, Al. Scorpius is gone, and he isn’t coming back. If he loved you like I love you, he wouldn’t have left you behind.”

 

Any sort of guilt or sympathy Albus felt for Lysander disappears in a surge of anger.  “That’s not true,” he grumbles scornfully.  He whips around and pushes the stall door open too hard, making it bang loudly against the neighboring stall.  He scoops up his things and heads for the Slytherin dorms, deciding that he’s too upset to go to class.  He’s late anyway.

 

Hidden behind the closed curtains of his four-poster, he cries bitter, angry tears as he dumps out the contents of the padded envelope onto the duvet.  There’s a folded letter, a lanyard with a hard plastic badge, and a concert ticket. Albus starts out reading the letter through tear-blurred eyes, but by the time he finishes it, he’s got that stupid-looking smile back.

 

 

_Dear Albie,_

_Tour is AMAZING. I’m just finishing up a ten-day stint through Asia, and let me tell you, the fans are CRAZY here. I stepped off the plane in Korea, and there was a horde of screaming girls at the terminal to greet me with placards and flowers and gifts.  I needed a bloody police escort wherever I went.  It was fucking insane.  I hardly had any time to breathe, let alone write you, and for that I’m sorry. My manager had me doing interviews and TV appearances between every show.  It was exhausting, but so worth it._

_Japan was my favourite country. You’d love Tokyo. All the lights and little shops selling cute things and the food that’s too adorable to eat!_

_I’ll be back in England soon.  I’m doing a gig at The Royal Albert Hall before Christmas (oh my Godric can you believe it?!), then I’m spending the holidays with my family.  I’m sending you a ticket to that show, and I really hope you can make it.  Front row! You’re also getting a VIP badge, which will get you backstage and into the afterparty.  You better pop in and see me!_

_I miss you like mad.   Gods, I don’t know how I’m going to survive another three months of tour without my bestie. I’m thinking of you always and I’m constantly picking up little souvenirs for you, so expect a bag full of swag when you see me!_

_How’s school, by the way?  You holding things down alright without me?_

_Yours in mischief,_

_Scor_

 

 

Albus’ heart soars as he clutches the letter to his chest and falls back against the pillows.  He spends the next hour daydreaming of Scorpius, imagining the two of them traipsing through Tokyo hand-in-hand.  He falls asleep with a grin on his face, and all the drama with Lysander is easily forgotten – at least for the time being.

 

When he wakes from his unexpected nap, his roommates are pouring into the room, chattering excitedly.

 

“Oi!  Skiving off classes again, Potter?”  Lloyd plops himself down on Albus’ bed uninvited.  “Shit, the Scamander kid must be giving it to you _good_ , judging from the way you’re always disappearing on us.”

 

“Shut up, Warrington,” Albus mutters and grins wryly. “There’s nothing going on between me and Lysander.”

 

Duston falls onto Albus’ bed with a bounce and says sarcastically, “Oh it’s nothing.  You’re just sneaking off to snog in the bathroom every five seconds.”

 

“It’s cool, Al.  We get it,” Lloyd assures Albus, “You and Scamander are fuck buddies on the down low.  Secret’s safe with us.”

 

Bryce sits at the foot of Albus’ bed. “You can copy my notes from the classes you missed, but it’ll cost you.”

 

Garret manages to take up the very last available space on the bed.  “Or you can have mine for free.  But I’m warning you, they’re rubbish.”

 

Bryce grins shrewdly.  “You know I take perfect notes, Al.  And I’ll give them to you, if you give me your ticket.”

 

Albus blinks at him with astonishment. “To Scor’s concert? How’d you know about that?”

 

“We all got one, genius,” Duston waves his plain, non-bedazzled envelope in Albus’ face. 

 

Albus feels like he’s been deflated with a punch in the stomach.  Of course, Scorpius would give all of his friends a ticket.  Albus’ heart sinks.  Maybe he’s the only one that got glitter stickers, but that doesn’t make him feel all that special anymore.  Scorpius’ friendship with Albus had always been different from his friendship with the others. They were inseparable, without the normal social boundaries that should’ve existed between two boys. As Alexa once said, Albus and Scorpius were a snog away from dating, if only Scorpius were not in denial.

 

“But that’s the thing.  We all got _one_ ,” says Bryce, “What’s the use of having the hottest ticket in town if we can’t bring a date?”

 

Albus looks at Bryce sideways. “There is no way in Hell that you’re getting my ticket just so you can impress some girl.  I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

 

Bryce makes an exasperated sound. “Fine.  A galleon will do.  And I’ll give you this piece of advice for free.  There is no piece of arse that’s worth flunking out of school for. Unless your aim is to get left back so you can be in the same year as your little, blond jump-off, you really ought to get your priorities straight.”

 

Lloyd nudges Bryce and jokes, “There’s nothing _straight_ about him, Bry. You’re wasting your breath. If Al wasn’t skiving off classes with one blond kid, he’d be skiving off classes with the other.”

 

Albus scrunches up his nose.  “Lorcan?  I’d never. _He’d_ never. The guy hates me.”

 

Duston taps a finger on Albus’ forehead. “You really are thick. He means Scorpius. If he wasn’t off being a pop sensation or whatever, you’d be cutting classes with him.”

 

Albus mutters and can’t keep himself from sounding bitter, “Yeah, but the difference is, we wouldn’t be skiving classes to go snog in bathrooms.”

 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Duston mumbles under his breath.

 

Duston and Alexa are Scorpius’ closest friends, next to Albus.  He wonders if the Montague twins know something about Scorpius that he doesn’t.

 

 

~//~

 

Albus’ face is pressed firmly against the side of greenhouse four.  Lorcan’s breath comes hot and ragged from behind, burning Albus’ cheek with the heat of his fury. It’s amazing how the same face and the same body pressed closely to his could elicit a completely opposite response from the one Lysander can inspire. 

 

“I warned you, Potter.  You brought this upon yourself,” Lorcan growls, pinning Albus’ arm even harder behind his back, pulling a pained sound from his mouth.

 

A deep, malicious laugh rumbles in Lorcan’s throat. The bastard is actually enjoying Albus’ pain.  He thinks he feels something stirring in Lorcan’s lap, pressed against his backside, and it makes Albus sick.  If Lorcan treats him like this, a kid he grew up with, how does Lorcan treat his own brother when he’s in an angry rage?

 

“Stop it, Lor!  Don’t hurt him!”  Albus hears Lysander’s tearful plea coming from somewhere nearby.

 

Albus isn’t scared.  Sure, he feels dread in the pit of his stomach because he knows he’s about to get his arse kicked, but he’s more indignant than anything. “What the fuck, Lorcan? I can’t win with you. I snog your brother, and you’re miffed. I end it with your brother, and you’re still miffed.  What the Hell do you want from me?”

 

“I want to break you like you broke my brother’s heart,” Lorcan declares before sharply bringing his knee up between Albus’ legs.

 

Albus goes limp as the incapacitating pain surges, white hot, from his groin.

 

Lorcan steps back, allowing Albus to fall to the ground, and smirks at him from above.  “How do you like that, faggot?  You like the way I feel between your legs?”

 

In a strangled voice, still recovering from being kicked in the balls, Albus says defiantly, “Faggot?  Really?  You’re one to talk.”

 

Lorcan kicks the smirk right off Albus’ mouth. Albus tastes the dirt from Lorcan’s shoe, mingled with his own blood.  Lysander frantically shouts at his brother to stop.

 

“You can’t have them all,” Lorcan drawls viciously, “You can’t have Scorpius _and_ Ly. My brother deserves better.”

 

Albus manages to smile cheekily at Lorcan with bloody teeth.  “I don’t have Scor. Nobody has Scor.”

 

“You really are as daft as you look, Potter,” Lorcan scoffs before leaving Albus in the dirt.  “Let’s go Ly.”

 

Lysander meekly takes hold of his brother’s arm and flashes an apologetic glance back at Albus. He mouths the words, _I’m sorry_ as he’s lead away.

 

 

~//~

 

 

_Dear Scor,_

_I’m so happy to hear you’re having fun on tour.  I can’t wait to see you and hear more about it.  Tokyo sounds brilliant.  I wish I could go there with you some day.  You really didn’t have to get me anything, but I have to admit, I’m just a little excited to be getting presents._

_I’m also super excited for your show at Royal Albert Hall.  I’m so fucking proud of you, Scor.  I would say that I can’t believe you went from singing at open mic night in a little lounge in London to performing at a giant concert hall, but I always knew you would.  From the first time I heard you singing in the shower (lol!), I knew you’d be a big star some day._

_School’s alright. You’re not missing anything good. Be grateful that you’re not here for the war I sort of started between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. It’s getting ugly. It’s like the feud between the Capulets and the Montagues (obviously I don’t mean Duston and Alexa, haha!) in Romeo and Juliet.  Except Romeo in this case doesn’t love Juliet, and Juliet is a bloke with a criminally insane twin brother. Romeo is actually in love with somebody else.  He has been for a really long time._

_Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with Hogwarts gossip.  See you soon.  I miss you so much it’s ridiculous._

_Yours in mischief,_

_Albie_

 

 

 

~//~

 

 

The Royal Albert Hall has probably never witnessed such hysteria in all of its one-hundred-and-fifty years, nor has it hosted such a feverish mass of teenage girls.  Albus doesn’t know what the promoters were thinking by letting _Scor,_ as he is simply known as in the music industry, to perform at such a posh venue that is more accustomed to staging ballet and opera. But Albus does know that Scorpius wanted his homecoming to be more intimate, even though he could have easily sold out the considerably larger O2 Arena.

 

 

The house lights from the jeweled chandeliers go dim as the colored spotlights come on in front of the closed velvet curtains, causing a deafening, collective scream from the crowd in frantic anticipation. Albus knows that Scorpius deserves this level of wild adoration, but it is still surreal to witness the mass hysteria that his best mate is causing. 

 

He exchanges looks of astonishment and near dread with his friends in the front row.  Alexa and Bryce are covering their ears, looking terribly annoyed. Lloyd is jumping up and down eagerly, simply thrilled to be at a real muggle concert.  Garret looks to be in a state of shock to be amongst thousands of screaming girls.  Even Duston, who’s often so cool and collected, can’t seem to contain himself in this atmosphere.

 

“This is going to be fucking madness, isn’t it?” Duston says excitedly in Albus’ ear over the shrill din.

 

Albus knows what Scorpius is capable of. He’s seen him emotionally devastate a five-hundred-person-capacity club with just his voice and a backing track. From Scorpius’ letters and from internet videos that he’s seen on his parents’ computer at home, Albus anticipates that this is going to be a huge production.  Scorpius’ voice can stand alone without a spectacle, but if he can do something flashy, Scorpius is going to make a glittering explosion.

 

And Scorpius does exactly that. The curtain slowly rises as the stage lights come on behind it, and five thousand teenage girls collectively die. The stage is set with a full band on either side of a sleek staircase that leads to a platform. The synthesizers hum a low, sustained chord, establishing the energy of the night with just a sound. An electronic piano melody plays in syncopated rhythm with a pattering, muted drumbeat. 

 

Then Scorpius’ voice emits from an unseen source. The screams from the audience somehow grow to an ear-splitting panic as Scorpius rises through the platform on a hidden lift behind the stairs.  Blinding white light bulbs spell out his name behind him, casting him in shadow. There is a momentary pause in the music, during which glitter erupts from canons on either side of him. Then the beat drops and a spotlight illuminates Scorpius, who begins to descend the stairs with choreographed ease while singing.  As he takes each step, it lights up, as if triggered by his feet.

 

He is a spectacle unto himself. Underneath the crisp, white, form-fitting designer suit and the perfectly coifed hair, he’s still Albus’ best friend.  But this is Scorpius times ten to the ninth power.  His presence commands attention even without the pomp and circumstance. He’s a golden god, shimmering on a pedestal to be worshiped by all.  And Albus can hardly believe this is the same kid he befriended at eleven-years-old. He’s never felt luckier to be Scorpius’ friend.  He’s gushing so violently with joy and pride that his gleeful giggles spread to his friends.

 

Awestruck and proud, Alexa remarks, “Well fuck me sideways… Scorpius is _hot_!”

 

The music is a feverish cacophony of thumping dance beats and sleek melodies.  Scorpius’ voice floats hauntingly, sensually, above it all.  Albus can’t help but move with the undulating crowd as Scorpius conjures emotions from deep within Albus’ chest.  The love he feels for his best friend has reached catastrophic levels, and he can fully understand why there are girls crying actual tears a few feet away.

 

“Oh my god!  I can’t believe how close he is!” one girl exclaims, seemingly on the verge of an excitement-induced nervous breakdown.

 

Albus can’t help snorting to himself and grinning smugly.  She thinks _she’s_ close to Scor?  Well Albus has shared a bed with him.  Can’t get closer than that.

 

The backup singers take over, carrying the chorus while Scorpius is joined by six dancers.  He moves like each complicated step is second nature, and in a sense, it is. Scorpius has always had dance in his blood.  But Albus knows what it took for Scorpius to get this good, to make it look this easy, to execute each move flawlessly.  He lost Scorpius to grueling rehearsals two months before he even left for tour.

 

Albus remembers summer days spent at Malfoy Manor long ago, before the bright lights and fame suddenly stole Scorpius away. He remembers Scorpius choreographing dances to his favorite song of the moment and trying to teach the moves to Albus, Duston, and Alexa.  They’d perform in the sitting room for Scorpius’ dad, his uncle Theo, and his gran, who would clap politely.  The three friends were easily the worst backup dancers Scorpius ever had, but damn if it wasn’t the best time of their lives.  Albus wonders if Scorpius would still agree.

 

The energy of the concert can’t possibly be sustained at such a frenzied level.  After several songs that have the audience bouncing with near seismic force, a force that threatens to shake down the crystal chandeliers, Scorpius slows things down.  The lights dim to a moody glow, hiding his band in the shadows.  A single spotlight follows Scorpius as he leisurely roams the front of the stage. He sings what the muggles call a _slow jam,_ accompanied by surging orchestration and a jazzy beat that could inspire a striptease. Scorpius has the audience melting with the sensuality of his voice and his swoon-inducing words.

 

When the chorus comes, Scorpius moves to the part of the stage in front of Albus.  He gets on his knee and seems to be singing directly to Albus, but Albus knows that this is what Scorpius calls _working the audience_. Still, it can’t be ignored that Scorpius’ silver-blue eyes are fixed upon Albus.  It doesn’t take much for the whole world to disappear around them, and suddenly it feels like Albus is alone with Scorpius.

 

Albus knows all the words to this song, as he does every one of Scorpius’ songs.  He knows the lyrics well enough to recognize when Scorpius changes them, and he blushes deep and hot, high on his cheeks, when Scorpius switches the gender of the pronouns.

 

_I’m so into you, boy_

_I’m so dead into you, boy_

_I want to get into it deep, boy_

_I want to get into you, please, boy_

 

Albus has to bite his bottom lip to keep his grin from spreading into that stupid-in-love smile.  Scorpius is several feet above Albus on the stage, but he reaches out towards him, as if eager to take his hand.  In their vain attempt at grabbing Scorpius, the girls in the row behind Albus shove him forward into the barrier.  They practically knock him in the back of the head with their outstretched arms and their mobile devices.

 

Scorpius doesn’t panic when he realizes the melee he’s causing at Albus’ expense.  He simply flashes a little knowing grin at Albus, then stands up, and takes a step back from the edge of the stage, effectively ending the feeding frenzy.

 

He never takes his eyes off Albus as he sings, and Albus mouths the words in perfect sync with him, as if it’s a duet.

_Baby let me win, let me in_

_Let me love you_

_I want to get it right, in your light_

_Let you shine through_

 

_‘Cause I am nothing but a spark_

_Without you I am in the dark_

_Baby, won’t you shine for me_

_Let me in your light_

_And shine for me_

When the song ends, Scorpius’ smile brightens. He humbly mutters _thank you_ into the microphone and nods his head in Albus’ direction before jogging back up the stairs to the platform for his next song.

 

Stunned, Albus asks Duston, “Holy shit, what just happened?” His heart is fluttering at a hummingbird pace.  He’s so high off this feeling of elation that he could float away.

 

Duston raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Seriously, Potter? If you don’t know, then you’re more daft than I thought.”

Alexa reaches over to ruffle Albus’ hair playfully. “Damn, I think I need a cold shower after that one.  I can imagine what you’re feeling right now Albie.” 

 

Lloyd jokes, “If you want to feel each other up just to get it out of our system, I’m totally cool with that.”

The rest of the show is like a dream. Albus can’t stop feeling like every song that Scorpius sings is just for him.  Maybe this is what makes Scor a super star, what earned him so many diehard fans so early in his career.  Maybe Scorpius makes _everyone_ feel this special, this wonderful, this _wanted_.

 

At the end of the concert, after two encores, Scorpius thanks the audience, thanks his band, thanks his dancers, and even thanks his parents.  Then he points to the section of the front row where Albus is sitting and says, “My best mates from school are here tonight.” He takes a final bow and says, “Cheers, London! You’ve been brilliant.” Then he glances over his shoulder in his retreat offstage and meets Albus’ eyes.  “It’s all for you,” he says into the microphone before he hands it off to a waiting stage tech.

 

Albus honestly isn’t sure if the last thing that Scorpius said was aimed at him, or the fans, or London, or all of his friends. Either way, he’s elated.

 

~//~

 

Backstage is a veritable circus. Scorpius looks exhausted with sweat-soaked hair, sitting on a sofa wearing a fresh t-shirt and a towel around the back of his neck.  He is surrounded by all sorts of VIP’s, from industry people to blood relations. Albus worries that he won’t have the opportunity to get close enough to Scorpius to say hello. 

 

When Scorpius spots him entering the room, he jumps up from his seat and exclaims with his arms in the air, “Albie!” It’s a reaction reminiscent of their reunions on the train platform at Kings Cross station.

 

Scorpius weaves through the entourage to get to Albus with much effort, and Albus’ heart threatens to stop in tense anticipation. When he finally reaches Albus, he hesitates, as if waiting for Albus to set the protocol.  Albus doesn’t know how he’s supposed to treat Scorpius here, in a social setting that’s as foreign to Albus as Tokyo.

 

So he simply says, _hey_ , and bites his lip nervously.  The tension between them is thick.  It’s been seven months since they’ve seen each other and Albus still doesn’t know if nothing has changed or if everything has changed.

 

Scorpius quirks a brow and repeats, “ _Hey_?  I haven’t seen you in forever, and all you have to say to me is _hey_?”

 

Alexa rushes to his aide in a whirlwind. “What Al _means_ to say is, brilliant show.  You did an amazing job and we’re all so fucking proud of you that it hurts. Seriously, it pains me that you’re so bloody fabulous.”  She kisses Scorpius on both cheeks and hugs him tightly.

 

Their other friends follow with their genuine praise and warm, affectionate greetings, setting the precedent for Albus to fold Scorpius in an all-encompassing embrace.  He feels the other boy’s arms coil tightly around him and he’d heave a sigh of relief if he could actually breathe, but he still can’t.

 

“Missed you, Al,” Scorpius whispers in Albus’ ear.

 

It had been devastating to be separated from his other half for so long, and Albus is reminded of this when his chest hurts as he says, “Missed you more.”

 

They hang on to each other for longer than is socially acceptable for a couple of blokes who aren’t dating. But neither of them cares. They have always been this close, and Albus realizes that neither time nor distance has changed their special friendship.

 

 

Unbeknownst to Albus and their friends, the night has only just begun.  And as Scorpius ushers them into an enormous white limousine, his mischievous grin hints at what’s to come.  The afterparty is at a rented-out lounge with sleek leather benches, glass tables that catch the gleaming halogen lights, and a dance floor populated by gorgeous people Albus has never seen before.  He wonders if Scorpius even knows them.  Albus feels like he and his fellow Slytherins are too young to be here, and if it were a regular night, they certainly would be.

 

The champagne flows freely, and they don’t even have to sneak sips from their glasses like they do at their parents’ posh soirees. This party is for them, as Scorpius had intended.  And the staff here is more than willing to comply with all of Scorpius’ demands, as well as the demands of his companions.  The music starts out as a swaying background accompaniment to their drinking. But as the revelry builds with each new cork popped, the beats begin to pound with the sort of carnal rhythm that can’t be ignored. 

 

Even though he’s nearly exhausted himself putting on a high-energy performance, Scorpius seems to find his second wind. He throws his hands up and declares, “Shit, that’s my _jam_!I just gotta dance!” 

 

Albus suspects that his friend is at least a little bit buzzed.  Certainly, Albus has had enough to drink to call himself _uninhibited_. Scorpius grabs Albus by the wrist and pulls him onto the dance floor.  They dance together as if it’s nothing shocking, as if the VIP strangers aren’t staring with quirked eyebrows, as if nobody’s stealthily snapping photos of them on their mobile phone.  They dance with their arms up and their spirits high, and Albus decides that _this_ is the best time of his life, childhood choreography notwithstanding.

 

They dance like they share one heart and one soul between them, with no barriers and no rules.  Albus feels more than their bodies connecting when the beat drops out and Scorpius presses close.  Scorpius looks at him in an unfamiliar hungry way, and it makes him shiver. Albus is nervous, and in love, and doesn’t want to ruin everything by misinterpreting signals. So he flashes an awkward little grin and says, _hey_ , which is quickly becoming his default response when other words escape him.

 

Scorpius’ response mirrors Albus’, but it comes out very differently.  He tilts his head to speak into Albus’ ear, as quietly as he can while still being heard above the music, “Hey.” 

 

Albus didn’t know that a single word could have so much power when spoken sibilantly like _that_. He feels Scorpius’ mouth, hot and close on his neck just bellow his ear, and his knees literally go weak.

 

“I meant what I said, you know,” Scorpius admits, “At the end of the show.”  He gently cups the side of Albus’ face and pulls back just enough for their eyes to reconnect.  “It’s all for you.”

 

And Albus’ heart explodes. 

 

Heat and adrenaline surge through his veins, rendering his skin a faint pink, urging him forward ever so slowly, but without hesitation and without doubt.  Scorpius holds his gaze as Albus holds his breath.  Albus closes the distance between them until everything goes blurry, and their eyes flutter shut, and the music fades away, and they’ve stopped dancing ages ago, and the world stops spinning, and _oh my fucking gods._ Albus’ lips touch Scorpius’ beautiful mouth.

 

For a few nerve-splitting seconds, Scorpius is perfectly still.  He parts his lips, and in one shuddering breath, he tangles his fingers into Albus’ hair then kisses back with anxious desperation.  He swallows up Albus’ tongue as if he is much-needed air, as if Scorpius had been on the verge of drowning before Albus had kissed him.  Albus realizes that, before now, he’d never _really_ kissed anyone – not like this. He muses to himself how it’s so much better when you actually love the person you’re snogging. With one kiss, Scorpius has effectively ruined Albus for anyone else.

 

They’re kissing hard on the dance floor as a smoke machine shrouds them in mist, turning this scene into even more of a dream sequence.  Scorpius’ hand slips under Albus’ tee shirt and his touch is fire, scorching a trail of ruddy, sweat-dampened skin beneath his fingers.  And Albus can’t reasonably handle the actualization of all of his hopes and desires in a public place, so he moans into Scorpius’ mouth the words that Albus now knows had been written for him.

 

“I want to shine for you.”

 

It’s all Albus needs to say to make Scorpius bite his lip and take a slow breath to wrangle his desires enough to form a reply. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

They step off the dance floor with their hands linked, which had never been unusual for them.  But Albus now knows that _everything_ is going to change.  He’s not so worried about it anymore.  They hardly have a backwards glance and a smirk for their friends when they make their way to the exit.

 

“About fucking time!” Duston and Alexa call out in their wake.

 

Albus playfully flashes two fingers at the twins as Scorpius snakes an arm around his waist and leads him through a service door into an alley where another hired car awaits – this one, a sedan. Scorpius leaves the limo for his friends, rather than let them apparate drunk.

 

“Where to, Mr. Malfoy?” asks the driver.

 

Scorpius doesn’t even break eye contact with Albus when he answers, “Don’t know, don’t care, just drive,” and promptly descends upon Albus with more kisses.

 

Albus still can’t believe this is really happening. But every so often, the safety belt buckles dig sharply into Albus’ back like a pinch confirming that he’s not dreaming.  It’s all moving so fast and it’s so heart-wrenchingly exact to what Albus had wanted – everything he had been denying that he wanted. They kiss and rut against each other through their clothes until they’re sweating and breathless and a bit bruised by the awkwardness of lying across the back seat of a car.

 

Scorpius knows Albus so well that he can tell he’s uncomfortable, despite the hands clutching his backside, urging him on. “We should go somewhere. Where do you want to go, Albie?” he asks, nuzzling Albus’ cheek with the tip of his nose.

 

“Everywhere,” Albus answers, still catching his breath, “I want to go everywhere with you.”

 

 

~//~

 

Three months later, Albus stops his leisurely stride to plaster himself upon a storefront window with his hands splayed on the glass like a kid gawking into a sweets shop.  “Oh my living fuck,” he says, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, “Is this what I think it is, Scor?”

 

Scorpius folds his arms around Albus’ waist from behind and presses his cheek to the side of the other’s face. “I can’t read Japanese, but I’m pretty sure it is what you think it is.”

 

“Can we go?  Can we go?  Can we go? Oh, _please_ can we go?” Albus pleads like an eager toddler, gazing sweetly at Scorpius from behind batting lashes.  That look had always worked on Scorpius, and this time is no different.

 

Scorpius mutters something to his handler, who radios to his bodyguard a few steps behind, who radios the band of police escorts. After much hushed chatter in Japanese, they’re whisked away into a nearby alley where the horde of stalking fans can’t follow.  Through the alley, they enter the back door of the shop.  Somehow, all the customers that Albus had seen in the window have been ushered out. He and Scorpius have the place all to themselves, if one ignores the ever-present security detail. The police escorts stand outside the window, but fans still manage to sneak glances.

 

Albus worries his bottom lip, excited but unsure how to proceed.  He’s still overwhelmed by Japanese culture and social customs.  “Am I allowed to, erm… touch them?    Or am I supposed to just let them come up to me and touch _me_?”

  
Scorpius snorts.  “You realize how perverted that sounds, don’t you?”  Albus giggles.

 

The interpreter says something to the proprietor of the shop.  With a gracious smile, the shopkeeper answers in her best English, which is leaps and bounds better than Albus’ practically non-existent Japanese.  “Touch, okay.  Pick up, not okay.  What kind tea you want? What kind cat you like? I bring to you.”

 

Albus and Scorpius have happened upon a tea salon in Tokyo where patrons are entertained by cats.  Or rather, the cats that live in the establishment are entertained by the patrons.  They sip their green tea in beautiful ceramic mugs and let the cats rub up on them, pounce on them, and get into their cute little almond biscuits.

 

“I still can’t believe this is my fucking life,” Albus remarks as he scratches an affectionate, grey Persian on the head. “I’m having tea with cats in Tokyo… with _you._ ”

 

Scorpius rests his head on Albus’ shoulder and sighs contentedly.  “I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

 

Albus quirks a disbelieving eyebrow at Scorpius and asks, “Seriously?  You can’t imagine your life without cats in Tokyo?”

 

Scorpius chuckles and playfully bites Albus’ earlobe. “No, silly.  I can’t imagine my life without you.”

 

Albus’ heart soars.  His smile is stupid and wide and he doesn’t care how goofy he looks.  He presses it to Scorpius’ lips and says, “I love you, baby.”

 

“I love you too,” says Scorpius, before kissing him properly.

 

And the fans outside the window erupt into excited screams.

 

Albus pulls away, and giggles with embarrassment.

 

“Why’d you stop?” Scorpius protests softly, “Don’t you know it’s what they want?  _Yaoi_ is huge in Tokyo.”

 

Albus lets Scorpius pull him into another kiss and mutters against his mouth, “You’re so fucking _kawaii_.”

**Author's Note:**

> There’s an exchange between the boys that is an homage to the part in Deathly Hallows where Ron returns. 
> 
> This story had a couple of song inspirations: “Shine” by Years And Years inspired the title and the premise of the story. “Earned It” by The Weeknd inspired the slow jam that Scor sings to Al, but the lyrics are all mine.


End file.
